


I Fought On Your Side

by HopeCoppice



Series: Falling From Grace [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, F/M, Fallen Angels, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley, Loss, M/M, Minimal Ineffable romance in this part, Mutually Unrequited, Other, Partner Betrayal, Post-Apocalypse, Sexual Content, Trauma, Unhealthy Relationships, Unorthodox Conception, but it is there, it's just a much bigger part of the rest of the series, parental crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 16:21:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20028748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeCoppice/pseuds/HopeCoppice
Summary: Lucifer stole some rather interesting plans from God, before the Fall. He tries them out with another angel - and, years later, the consequences threaten to turn the world Crowley has fought for upside down.





	I Fought On Your Side

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little smuttier than my usual, it's not a very healthy relationship, and it's all in little angsty pieces (most of which revolve around sex). It's not super graphic, but if anything about that makes you uncomfortable, I absolutely won't hold it against you. You can still, if you'd like, subscribe to the series, and start at part 2 - you'll be caught up with everything at much the same speed as Aziraphale, if you do. That's also where the 'comfort' part of Hurt/Comfort will kick in; this is really just the hurt.
> 
> Next part will be up soon!

**Several years before Armageddon**

"Crowley. Come in, sit down." Satan looked nervous, somehow, and that was enough to have Crowley surreptitiously checking the chair for infernal spikes. It didn’t seem to be a trap, though, so Crowley took a seat and watched as the most powerful entity outside of Heaven refused to meet his eye.

“Am I in trouble, Luce?”

“_Crowley_.”

“Sorry. _ Lord Satan_. Am I in trouble? Because if it’s about-”

“I don’t want to know how that sentence ends. You’re not in trouble. Yet.”

“Then what’s this about?” It had been a very long time since he and Satan had last been alone together, and Crowley hoped it wasn’t for the same reasons. He was about to start a new job, working alongside Aziraphale every day and pretending to be a stranger, and he was excited about getting to see his angel on such a regular basis. _ Godfathers_, he thought to himself, _ such a stupid plan, really, but you get to share it with him. _And if there were only a few years left, he couldn’t think of anyone he’d rather spend it with.

Which would make it really awkward if Satan wanted to pick up their old affair.

“Look, Crowley, I don’t apologise often. If anyone ever asks, I don’t at all and never have. I don’t usually regret the things I do.”

“Are you talking about… the Fall?”

“I don’t regret the Fall.” Satan’s tone was sharp and metallic, the acrid taste of rusty nails and sulphur filling the room, and Crowley held his hands up in surrender. Satan took a moment to collect himself before continuing in a calmer tone. “It’s about my son, Crowley.”

“Yeah?” He tried not to sound too hopeful. “Want me to steal him back for you?”

“What? No. No! He has a job to do. But I do regret…” For a moment, Satan hesitated, and then his shoulders slumped. “I regret assigning you the duty of delivering him. It must be awkward, with our history, and now it seems cruel to have you watch over him so closely.”

“Our history is just that. History. _ Ancient _History - it’s been over since before you posted me to Eden. Barring slips. And you never asked me to take the Nanny position; that’s the other side’s fault. So we’re good. Well. Evil.”

“Are you sure? I can assign someone-”

“No. No, thanks. It could be fun, raising the Antichrist. I’ll send him your best.”

He waited anxiously until Satan dismissed him with a nod, and then high-tailed it out of Hell to start working on his appearance for the interview. 

He’d been planning to present himself as female for the duration of his time with the Dowling family, not only because people could still be rather odd about male nannies but also because it had been a while and his masculine shape had begun to feel wrong again. If he was going to have to maintain one form for several years, he was going to pick one he hadn’t grown tired of recently. At least, that had been the plan before Satan got all _ weird_.

Lucifer had always had a special fondness for Crowley’s feminine side, even in Heaven. Genders weren’t even really a thing back then, but Crowley had known he wasn’t just one, or none. And, even after the Fall, Satan had enjoyed Crowley’s soft curves far more than the hard lines he favoured when he was a man. Crowley, of course, _ was _ whatever seemed right at the time, and Satan had eagerly devoured him regardless, but he was certainly that little bit more excited when Crowley was female, and so Crowley had found himself lingering in that identity whenever they were together. Becoming a woman again - at least in the eyes of most of society - would have been no hardship at all, except that now it seemed Satan had sought him out for no reason other than to briefly have his company, and if he decided to watch Crowley as he worked there would be all sorts of complications. He didn’t want to tempt him by assuming his favourite form.

It didn’t matter, Crowley told himself firmly. He had already made his application, tailored his false history to fit a woman, given a woman’s name. Going back and fixing it all would take effort, and time they didn’t have, and besides all that, Crowley _ felt _female. So Nanny Ashtoreth presented herself at the front door of the Ambassador’s residence, and when Brother Francis arrived, there was no change of plan for him to question.

* * *

**Before time began**

_ Lucifer_.

He was radiant, the Morningstar, God’s favourite - She didn’t admit it, of course, but She didn’t hide it very well either - and Raqiel was utterly infatuated with him. For some reason she couldn’t even begin to understand, he seemed unable to take his eyes off of her, too.

“I’ve seen some of the plans, for the humans,” he confided in her one day, his deep voice stirring something within her that she didn’t understand. “You wouldn’t believe what She’s cooked up for them.”

“What kind of thing?”

“Eating. Sleeping. Other things. One in particular that looks interesting. But it’s all top secret.” He knew what he was doing; later, Crowley would look back and realise that the first to fall to temptation had never been Eve at all. “I _ could _show you…”

“Please.” Raqiel didn’t know why she wanted to know, but something in Lucifer’s smile drew her in. “What plans does she have for them?”

“You want me to share that knowledge with you? You’re not supposed to know.”

“Don’t you want to show me?” She’d thought that was why he’d brought it up; she’d thought perhaps it was too much to bear alone. “It doesn’t ma-” But Raqiel had never finished her sentence, caught off-guard as Lucifer caught her face between his hands and kissed her. As they kissed, she was aware of their energies shifting, of Lucifer guiding her body into the shape he wanted, and she could feel him changing too. Making an effort.

“She’s giving them these shapes,” he told her, “and they’re going to find this pleasurable.” And the kiss _ was _ pleasurable. “And then, to make more of them, they slot together... like _ this_.”

It had taken a little fumbling, that first time - Lucifer was working from theoretical documents and guesswork, and Raqiel from nothing at all - but then everything had been ecstasy, and by the time they separated, Raqiel was certain that the humans would enjoy what they were given.

“Must that be the only time we do that?” She asked, and Lucifer had given her that smile.

* * *

**11 years ago**

“Do you look like your Daddy-waddykins?” The Chattering Nun had asked the infant Antichrist, and Crowley had refused to look at the child as he drawled, “No.”

The truth was that the baby was the very image of his father - not of Satan, of course, not with his lack of _ widdle hoofykins_, but of Lucifer. Before he had Fallen, Lucifer had been an incredibly striking angel, and his child was a perfect miniature. Blond and blue-eyed, the Morningstar had literally lit up the Heavens - and when he had fallen, all of that had been reduced to ash and horns and darkness. The Antichrist was a painful reminder of what had once been, and Crowley couldn’t look at him. Crowley had been beautiful once, too.

“Do you think he’ll remember us?”  
“Pray that he doesn’t.”

* * *

**Before time began**

Lucifer had come to Raqiel that day, blazing with purpose.

“If I stood against God, would you stand with me?” He should have said _ no_, he should have talked him out of it, but instead he asked the question.

“Why?”

Lucifer only shook his head and reached for him, pulling him close. “Will you _ lie _with me, then?”

“Yes.” That was never in doubt; there seemed no reason not to, and it felt so good. He altered his form to the configuration the Morningstar liked best, and Lucifer had him, right there on the floor of Heaven, thrusting roughly until, with a cry of relief and triumph, a part of his celestial form joined with Raqiel’s own.

Then, as if it was nothing, he went off to start a war with God. More and more angels flocked to his side, and then they were all Falling. Raqiel watched in horror as they plummeted, wings ablaze, and then God rounded on him, searching his soul for any wrongdoing, any seed of rebellion. What She found was a seed Lucifer had planted, and then Raqiel was falling too.

* * *

**About 2000 years ago**

“What exactly did he say that got them all so angry?”

“Be kind to one another,” Aziraphale told her sadly, and Crowley nodded.

“Oh, yeah. That’d do it.”

They stood, angel and demon together, watching the life leave the poor man, listening to him cry out to God with his last desperate breaths. Crowley wondered if She was listening. If She cared at all. What _ purpose _ there could possibly be to this. They walked away together, when it was over, mostly to get away from the heartbreaking sound of the dead man’s mother weeping.

“I’m just saying, I couldn’t do that to _ my _ son.”

“You don’t have a son,” Aziraphale pointed out, “...er… do you?”

“Well, not that I know of.” She’d always been pretty careful in her encounters with humans, which were not as numerous as Aziraphale no doubt suspected. There were rules about procreating with humans, and they all boiled down to: don’t. “But in theory, if I had a son. I’d want him to live a long, happy life.”

“Well, the Almighty has made this sacrifice-”

“You know, sacrifices can be bloody selfish when it’s not _ you _ you’re sacrificing.” She shouldn’t have been talking like this to the angel; she just wanted some comfort and company, and she’d get neither if the angel stormed off. Worse, what if he started _ agreeing _ with her? The angel could _ Fall _. Crowley had never loved anyone with even a fraction of the passion she felt for Aziraphale. She couldn’t risk that. She knew how it felt to be brought down by someone who thought their desires were more important than your convictions, after all. “But that’s demon talk,” she added hurriedly, “and I’m going to go and talk to some demons.” Then she’d vanished, leaving the angel to stand alone and bewildered, and returned to Hell to sulk.

Satan must have sensed her arrival, because she’d barely got her bearings before word arrived that she was to report to Satan’s office. She looked a mess, tear-stained, scarf slipping from her hair, dress crumpled and dusty, but she didn’t care. If Satan wanted to see her, she had to go to him.

“You called for me, Lord.”

“Crawly.”

“Crowley, now, please, Lord Satan.”

“I can never keep up with your name changes.” He smiled ruefully. “Anything to report? I wasn’t expecting you back yet.”

“They killed him. Son of God, or whatever he was. It was _ horrible _ . The sort of thing we do down here when we’re feeling really vicious. And She did that to Her _ son _ ? Only even Heaven probably doesn’t really know if he _ is _ Her son, but _ he _ seemed to believe it. Surely She should have shown mercy?”

“This has upset you, Crowley.” Satan didn’t look impressed, and Crowley had to remember where she was. Who she was talking to. This sort of talk went unremarked upon when he got into it with the angel; Satan didn’t appreciate talk of mercy.

“I suppose it just reminded me of- well, other people She’s punished. The Fall,” he lied quickly, “I think I’m still a bit shaken up over it after all.”

“After all this time?” Satan chuckled. “Well, I seem to remember cheering you up when it happened. Come here.”

Their affair had ended long ago, before Eden, before the _ world_, but Crowley did remember that Satan had taken her mind off the pain after they landed. Beneath the indulgent tone of his voice, she also detected desire; he wanted her, and she wanted to forget for a moment. She wanted to be desired. She wanted to be _ distracted_. So she went to him, and she climbed into his lap, and she let herself be taken back to the old days for just as long as it took to find some sort of release. Then she stood, straightened her clothes, and left.

* * *

**After the Fall**

Raqiel hit the ground and felt everything break. As the flames died down around him, he could just make out strange, misshapen creatures emerging from the lake of sulphur, wading towards him. He got to his hands and knees, screaming as every broken bone burned, and knew with a sick certainty that he couldn’t escape the monsters advancing upon him. Then one, a huge beast with horns, turned his face to the sky and roared.

“Raqiel?”

Even distorted and damaged as it was, he knew that voice.

“Lucifer?” The horned monster turned, searching, and Raqiel crawled painfully towards him.

“Look at that. Crawly, crawly,” the demons hooted, but Lucifer gathered him into his arms and began healing his wounds. Their combined efforts soon had Raqiel standing on his own two feet again, though they looked quite unlike his old angelic form.

“I’m not going to call myself Lucifer any more,” he told him, “I like the sound of Satan.”

“Then I’ll change mine, too.”

“What to?”

“I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it.” For now, he was distracted as Lucifer- as _ Satan _ spread his legs, ostensibly checking for further damage.

“I saw in the plans that this could relieve pain,” Satan murmured, pressing one monstrous finger to a particular spot, and Raqiel hissed with pleasure despite himself. “We are both in so much pain.”

“Seems… like we should help each other, then.” The finger stopped, and Raqiel - Crawly, he supposed, judging by the way the rest of the demons were now jeering at him - almost whimpered at the loss. “Should we go somewhere-?”

“Nowhere to go,” Satan told him, and pushed himself inside. “It doesn’t matter, does it?”

It shouldn’t; it wouldn’t have bothered him before, despite the stolen secrets inherent in the act. Now, he felt exposed and fragile, and his current configuration didn’t feel quite like what he wanted for himself. Not right now. But Satan was already moving within him, and the mocking howls of the crowd had reached fever pitch, and _ this _, this stolen pleasure that was theirs, it was all he had to hold onto. Crawly wrapped his legs around his lover and shook his head.

“No. Let ‘em watch.” Let all God’s secrets about the humans be exposed; if they all knew about this, the demons could control the human population level in any way they chose. He gasped as his partner-in-crime brushed just the right spot, and all the doubts fled from him. 

This thing with Satan was the only thing in the universe he was certain of.

* * *

**About 100 years ago**

Crowley was furious with the angel for not helping him to protect himself. So furious, in fact, that he stormed straight down to Hell, looking to obtain a different sort of protection. Predictably, Satan called him to his office as soon as he arrived, and equally predictably Crowley went. What neither of them had predicted, however, was that he would go to his knees the moment he reached the office.

“Please, Lord, I need this.”

“What do you need?” But Satan knew what he needed, was already drawing it from inside his trousers, taking the demon’s chin with his other hand and staying just, painfully, out of reach. Crowley keened, desperate.

“I need you to take the pain away.” If Satan was surprised, he didn’t show it; he just shifted his hips forward and let Crowley do as he wanted. Then, apparently remembering that he was in charge, he curled his hands into Crowley’s hair and took control. It was rough, it was brutal, and it was exactly what Crowley had hoped for when he went to his knees.

“Up,” Satan demanded at last, and Crowley went willingly, allowing himself to be pushed down onto the desk and his clothes to be blinked out of existence. Satan hummed as he got a good look at him. “Not my usual preference for you, but I do like variety.”

He did like variety; he also, as often as not, liked to take things slowly, but Crowley bared his teeth and _ hissed _ when he tried to ease him into it. Today, he _ wanted _to hurt, he wanted his body to feel as bruised as his heart, and it seemed that Satan was amenable to that idea, too. With one swift movement he thrust himself inside, and then his hand came between them to work Crowley mercilessly even as he tried to adjust to the feeling of fullness. Lucifer had seen the plans for human anatomy; he knew exactly where to aim for as he carefully pulled back and slammed himself back in again, and Crowley came undone almost immediately, crying out and shaking and spilling over his Lord’s hand. Every nerve felt raw, pain and pleasure conspiring to make him desperately oversensitive, but Satan didn’t stop. Crowley didn’t want him to.

When, at last, his Lord came with a shudder, Crowley lay spent and breathless on the desk. Satan looked down at him with something like pride, and touched a finger to his jaw.

“I thought last time was the last time.”

“It was,” Crowley gasped, “should have been. No more.”

“We’ll see,” that monstrous voice promised, “we’ll see.”

* * *

**Several years before the Apocalypse**

“Something weird’s going on downstairs,” Crowley told Aziraphale over the back of a seat on a bus, two weeks after his trip to Hell. For the sake of breaking Nanny Ashtoreth’s character for an hour or two, he had put on a suit and shortened his hair; for the sake of his sanity, he had made no other alterations to his anatomy except to add a sturdy binder to his outfit.

“I believe that miscreant’s fare has just miraculously been paid for him,” Aziraphale told him, “stay on task.”

“I didn’t mean- oh, never mind. Go on, make your report, then.”

Later, alone in his room in Nanny Ashtoreth’s long, Victorian-style nightgown, he wondered what he’d intended to say to the angel. _ Satan apologised for sending me with the Antichrist, because he thinks getting his ex to play errand-boy and deliver his son might be a bit awkward? _ And then he’d have had to explain to Aziraphale that yes, he’d had a very physical relationship with Satan before Eden, and he’d only gone up there to start tempting in the first place to give them both some space after it ended, and actually he’d succumbed to the devil’s charms a couple of times _ since _ then, and Aziraphale would judge him for it. They couldn’t afford the time it might take the angel to get over himself, so Crowley wouldn’t tell him. He just _ also _ wouldn’t be so weak again.

Oh, but it was tempting. In Crowley’s experience, sex was an excellent way to get out of your own head, and he could really do with that now. A click of his fingers and the doors were locked; another click and no sound would escape his room. He could still hear the faint clatterings of the household - he would hear if he was needed - but nobody would hear him. A third demonic miracle ensured that anyone looking to disturb Nanny Ashtoreth, or questioning her retiring to bed so early in the evening, would be distracted by some other task. Then he folded his nightgown neatly across his hips and reached down.

He supposed it was the done thing to imagine some fantasy or other while bringing oneself off; to imagine someone else’s fingers parting folds of flesh and tracing wet heat back to its source. Crowley never dared; he couldn’t bear to think of the person he wanted, wouldn’t violate his trust or his image like that, and he certainly didn’t want to think of the beast he kept going back to. He couldn’t think of better times in Heaven, either; remembering Heaven at all was both emotionally and physically painful, thanks to God’s talent for punishment. She would have done rather well as a demon, Crowley thought, if She hadn’t already been busy being God. She could certainly devise better tortures than any of them, and wasn’t shy about dishing them out.

_ You shouldn’t say that _ , he imagined Aziraphale scolding him, and his hands on his own body seemed to speed up of their own accord. _ It simply isn’t right to compare the Almighty, Divine Creator of the world, to your own kind. _

_ But what about your kind? _ Crowley answered in his head, _ What about you? You’re the most divine being I’ve ever set eyes on, even when I was an angel. _

Aziraphale would blush at that, no doubt, and stammer something about Crowley going too fast, and then he would walk away before Crowley could even begin to tell him that his heart belonged to him, that his body was his for the taking, that he-

He contorted himself impressively to muffle his own noises in his pillow as he came, heart pounding as he realised what he’d done. How could he ever look his angel in the eye again? He took a moment to collect himself - just a moment - and then, slowly, raised himself from the bed. He cleaned himself up, set the room to rights, and restored the locks and the walls to their usual states. Then he settled down to sleep, sated and guilty and relieved, for the moment, of some of the pressure that had been building up inside him.

* * *

**The night after the end of the world**

The bus ride back to London seemed a thousand years long; bus seats were so narrow, and Aziraphale was not, so that the angel’s leg was pressed firmly against Crowley’s. Crowley was very aware of every point of contact between them, and had to change the nature of the effort he was making just to hide what it did to him. He had known he loved the angel for a very long time, since they’d spoken on the walls of Eden; he hadn’t truly admitted that he wanted him in a carnal sense until that night in Nanny Ashtoreth’s bedroom. Now, with the apocalypse averted, he couldn’t think of any better way to spend the rest of time than with his angel, in whatever way Aziraphale would have him. And it was hard to remember that the only way Aziraphale wanted him was as a friend when every bump in the road jostled them together, Aziraphale’s hand sometimes finding Crowley’s knee for support.

Things only got more difficult from there; they spent the night assuming one another’s corporeal forms, channelling themselves into one another’s vessels. It felt strangely intimate, and Crowley couldn’t help but blush as Aziraphale realised what anatomy the demon had been wearing on the bus.

“Oh! That’s- none of my business, I apologise, it’s just a strange feeling.”

“Change it, if you like,” Crowley told him, trying to act casual, “I often do.”

“Oh. Yes. Well, actually, it’s not an _ unpleasant _ sort of strange.”

“I’d rather you changed it, in fact.” Crowley had suddenly realised that Aziraphale was taking this precaution in case he had to go to Hell, in Crowley’s body, and while he suspected Satan would be preoccupied with the recent loss of his son, he certainly didn’t want Aziraphale to be wandering around in the form he’d find most tempting. “Please.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale nodded, and concentrated. “Right. What do I need to know, to be you?”

He should have told him about Satan; he really should. But for all his faults, the Lord of Hell had never forced himself on Crowley - on anyone, actually, as far as Crowley knew - and he wasn’t likely to start now. A polite refusal would be all it took to keep Aziraphale safe, and he _ would _refuse. So he told him where things were in Hell, and how to talk to people, and Aziraphale told him about all the alterations in Heaven, and they fell asleep together on Crowley’s large, indulgently-comfortable sofa, and for a little while Crowley felt something like peace.

* * *

**After the apocalypse**

Back in their own bodies, Aziraphale and Crowley kept finding reasons not to be apart. A quick debriefing in St James’ Park became dinner at the Ritz, and dinner at the Ritz became a nightcap at Crowley’s, and then Aziraphale was suddenly very close, moving closer, and for a split second Crowley had the mad idea that the angel might kiss him. Then his stomach lurched, and he only had time to tell Aziraphale to stay where he was before the Summoning took hold and he found himself in Hell.

Specifically, he was in Satan’s office, and he strongly suspected that the broken demon in front of him had neither ordered, nor been aware of, the farce of a trial that had taken place earlier that day. Satan was drunk. Very drunk, judging by the number of bottles lying around him. He pushed a full one towards Crowley.

“Crowley! I’m not his father any more. Drink with me, will you?” Crowley warily accepted the bottle and sank into the seat opposite him.

“Why me?”

“No-one else would understand how it feels.”

“I… can’t say I’ve ever lost a child. Especially like this.”

“You did. The boy might have _ said _ I wasn’t his father, but what he _ thought _was that those humans were his parents, no-one else.”

“Right,” Crowley wasn’t following. “And I’m sorry about that, but what the Heaven has it got to do with me?”

“We don’t bear children, Crowley. We Create them.”

A cold feeling of dread settled over him as he sat there.

“What are you saying?”

“It was as easy as selecting a moment. The moment just before you Fell, I thought that was appropriate. You take that moment, and you pluck it out of time, and you breathe life into the spark, and the spark grows.”

“You take- I’m really not following.” He hoped he wasn’t, at any rate. It sounded as though-

“The potential was there, the day we Fell. We could have made another, then, our own Creation. So I reached back in time and did it, and then the Creation was here. The image of his father,” he told him, slurring slightly, “but I knew his mother would show through eventually.”

“His… mother.” Crowley swallowed hard, then took a long swig of whatever disgusting alcoholic concoction he’d been handed and swallowed that too. It burned his throat, and he welcomed the pain; it was a distraction. “You mean-?”

“Until he cut us both out of his life, you were his parent, too.”

Crowley supposed he must have lost his mind, for a little while, there, because when he came back to himself Satan was still talking.

“-and I really do regret doing that, but it was necessary - you had to be the one to hand him over, to break the ties-”

“Sorry, what?”

“Well, if I’d given him to the nuns personally, I’d be giving up my parental rights. That was no good. And if I’d told Hastur to hand him straight over to them, he’d still be tied to both of us. The Antichrist had to be _ mine_, so-”

“So you had _ me _ hand over my son.” Crowley felt as though he was going to be sick, and not only because he’d just abruptly sobered up. “_My own son_, a child I never even knew existed, never knew was part of me-”

“Yes. I did apologise-”

“You _ expressed regret_, and you didn’t even tell me what for! And now - why would you tell me _ now_? Now that he’s nobody’s but the parents who raised him, now that it’s far too late to make amends? _ Why would you tell me now?” _

“I told you, you’re the only one who understands-”

“I _ don’t _ understand. I share the pain, now, but I don’t _ understand_." It was a snarl, the defiance of a mortally wounded beast. "And… and I don’t have to be here any more. Haven’t you heard? Earlier I took a bath in Holy Water and survived, not that _ you _ lifted a finger to stop them destroying me, and now Heaven and Hell are terrified of me. And they should be. But not as terrified as _ you _should be.” Satan, too, looked as though he was rapidly sobering up in the face of Crowley’s wrath. “Send me back, and never summon me again.”

“But-”

“Send me back!” The last syllable came out as a sob, choking him, and then he was back on his sofa again and Aziraphale was peering anxiously at him.

“Crowley?” He couldn’t answer, tears streaming down his face, now, an awful yearning wail rising up from inside him, and he couldn’t keep it in. “Crowley, what’s happened?”

“My son,” he managed, barely a whimper, “he took _ my son_.”

And Aziraphale, bewildered, could only look on as he grieved.


End file.
